


Thimbles and Buttons

by sybilius, tartpants



Series: Black Beats and Low Leads: Leads Notebook [3]
Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note: Another Note
Genre: BBLL, Birthday Presents, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Fluff and Smut, Gift Giving, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Happy Birthday L, M/M, Oral Sex, Panties, Peter Pan References, Semi-Public Sex, Tarot, black beats and low leads, halloween fluff, mild possessiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8427916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybilius/pseuds/sybilius, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartpants/pseuds/tartpants
Summary: In their first Halloween together in nearly five years, B and L make their tentative debut as a costumed couple when they attend Wedy's annual Halloween party. Every now and again, even these two asshole detectives can get a little schmoopy and fluffy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fun lead we wrote in honor of Halloween, and IS considered part of Black Beats and Low Leads canon. It takes place on L's 19th Birthday, Halloween 1998, after B and L have been back together for nearly six months. Just a reminder: leads are shorter side-stories where we explore our beloved characters and the way they interact. They function a bit like "easter eggs" for the main series. Enjoy!

 

  
**October 24, 1998**

 

Two pairs of shoes have been sitting next to the mat at Marylebone for more than a few days now, though the pair of beaten-black combat boots won’t be there much longer. Beyond Birthday has a bag ‘packed’, rumpled with his usual assortment of the most versatile clothing for disguise, as well as weapons and knick-knacks weighted with personal meaning. Beyond packs light, but there’s baggage in all of it.

 _And the packing’s not something I can avoid, much as I’d like to stick around_. There’s a case to follow up on in Portugal, and it’s not just his priority, it’s L’s as well. He runs a hand through his hair, and pulls on his jeans with an air of regret.

L Lawliet, for his part, is just starting to ease into a different case entirely, tucked up with his notebook wearing nothing but an unbuttoned white shirt. Wearing his skin has always suited Lawliet best, the stark white of it in contrast to the modern black of the couch. His hair is still mussed from B’s enthusiastic hands through it only an hour before, and B can’t help smirking when he sees the bruising that his lips have left on Lawliet’s collarbones. _Well,_ _it’s not like I haven’t left my mark_.

“So, it’s your birthday in a week,” Beyond  takes a seat on the couch, trailing a finger down Lawliet’s bare thigh, memorizing the velvet of his skin for the time they’ll spend apart, “D’you think it’d be alright if I came back? So I can give you your gift proper.”

* * *

L smiles automatically at B’s touch, though he doesn’t yet look up from the sheaf of papers he’s studying. It’s been almost six months since they reunited for a case in Las Vegas. Come June in St. Petersburg they were fucking, and by the time they left Russia there seemed little reason to stop. Sometimes B stays for a week or longer, other times it’s just a weekend. Once, it was an two-hour layover in a car parked not far from Heathrow. They also met up in Berlin at the end of August, part-business, part-pleasure. Mostly pleasure. By now L’s got used to the little traces of B around the flat: two toothbrushes at the sink; longish, curly hairs stuck to the pillowcases; empty jam jars left on the counter.

“Your company is gift enough.” He tilts his head toward B and lifts an eyebrow. L has more money than a dozen kings, but B always did give exceptionally thoughtful gifts and L hasn’t received one from him in nearly five years. “But if you fancy it, we can even go to a party.”

B’s eyes widen in surprise, no doubt because L doesn’t typically make much of a fuss about his own birthday.

“A Halloween party,” L clarifies. “Wedy’s started throwing them every year. She says it’s the only time she can get all over her friends together in the same room, owing to the fact that so many of them have secret identities or double, even triple lives.”

L leans back into the deep sofa cushions, pleasantly fatigued from the evening’s early activities. “I went to last year’s dressed as Batman, but left as soon as I saw there were two Jokers and a Cat Woman in the mix.”

* * *

 

“God, I wouldn’t miss it. I bet Wedy throws a spectacular gig,” B grins ear-to-ear, already excited for a week from now, “Too bad you’ve already done the Batman bit.”

 _That concept has a lot of options, lots of leather and tights. Wish I had seen him as Batman_ , _he’s got great legs for that kinda shit._ B chews at his lip, imagining Lawliet in a variety of costumes, each more outlandish than the last.

“Bonnie and Clyde?”

“Mhm, there were several of those at the last party.”

“Ah, alright, alright. S’pose one of us could go as Indy, but I don’t think either of us are the right size for Shorty, and if I remember right Willie is off the table. And I don’t think either of us wants to go as Indy’s dad.”

Lawliet shakes his head adamantly, pursing his lips in a way that’s almost pretty. In a way that makes B want to paint them red, and kiss the color right off of them. He sucks in his breath, now picturing Lawliet in an entire array of female costumes, delicate and daring in equal measure. _Fuck that’d be...something else_. Lawliet seems to notice his distraction, cocks his head curiously.

“What would you think about me doing up your costume?” B asks with a low enough voice that Lawliet raises an eyebrow. B leans in to whisper in his ear, “I just really wanna see you get a hard-on in a dress for the first time.”

* * *

 

L fights back a shiver. B has a way of whispering that feels very nearly like a hot tongue trailing down the edge of his ear. “A hard-on while wearing a dress?” He’s gone a little stiffer already, though it’s thanks to B’s delivery of the words more than the words themselves. “You’re welcome to try, though I’m sure I’ll make for a peculiar-looking woman.”

“You haven’t got the mannerisms, but that’s alright. The trick’s in the makeup.” B wiggles his fingers in a circle before L’s face.

“Are we both going as women? Because if we’re both in dresses all eyes will be on you, not me.” Which L wouldn’t necessarily mind. B looks hot in a dress, and even hotter out of it. Moreover, L has seen B’s cock strain against black lace panties enough times to almost wonder what his own would look like, wearing that very same pair. It might not be sexy, but it would be...interesting. Very interesting.

Groaning, L loops his fingers around B’s hand and brings it to his swelling cock. “You’re an asshole, by the way. If we both dress like tarts we’ll spend the whole night fucking here and never make it to the party at all.”

* * *

 

“Mmm, and if we keep this up I might miss my flight,” B teases, but really, he’s just enjoying Lawliet’s body while he still can. They’ve fucked enough for weekend that sex isn’t really on the table, it’s just nice to have touch, “But if you’re worried about me upstaging you, I’ll go as a man. Makes it easier for us to do the couples shit too. What do you think about Sid and Nancy?”

“From the Sex Pistols? Didn’t he kill her?” Lawliet bites his thumb, rubbing B’s wrist absently with his other hand.

“No way, he loved her more than anything! I’d reopen that case if I thought it’d mean anything at that point.”

“The evidence was tight enough. They called it _Love Kills_. We’ve seen enough cases to both know that by now,” Lawliet says it darkly enough that B bites his tongue, drops the topic and settles for lacing his fingers, resting their hands together on Lawliet’s thigh.

“Let’s not make it a debate then, as much as the punk rock costumes would be fun. But I guess I did say I wanted something with a dress. Nothing too frilly, either, something a little flimsy would be best,” he trails off, play with the slight hair on Lawliet’s thighs. _I’ll have to do something about that, too._

* * *

L sucks on his bottom lip in thought. While tawdry costumes are their own fun, he knows that Wedy’s guests will all be trying to out-vamp each other. And it’s their first party as a couple -- L isn’t the sentimental type, but symbols and gestures matter, and they matter to B most of all. But L is pretty sure that even B will bite his tongue on the _I love yous_ this time around. They were young and dumb the last time they’d said that, chanting the words as if they were a magic spell that would make them both untouchable.

They know better, now.

Lifting their intertwined hands to kiss the inside of B’s wrist, L studies his profile the keen quirk of his eyebrows, the sharp edges of his cheekbones. There’s always been something otherworldly about B’s face. “What about elves?” He shakes his head slightly. “No, not elves. Peter Pan and Wendy Darling.”

B was always like a lost boy who landed on his window sill, urging him to come out of the Manor, to fly off into adventure. It’s about as corny as L can stand, but it’s a hell of an appropriate symbol. Even L can admit to that.

“What do you think? I can wear a long blue dress, and you can squeeze yourself into a pair of green tights.”

* * *

“I think it’s perfect,” B’s smile is almost soft, as he catches the fairy-dust past glittering in Lawliet’s suggestion. _It sure as hell wasn’t all good. But let’s remember the parts that were._ He’s almost blushing a bit now, which he hasn’t done since he was thirteen, for god’s sake. _Still for the same person, though._ He nudges his head against Lawliet’s shoulder “You’re putting me in tights, huh?”

Lawliet hums slightly, “I didn’t want to be the only one at a disadvantage. So it’s settled, then?”

“What, first to get a hard-on loses?” B can only keep a straight face for a half a second before the grin lights up his cheekbones, “Yeah, that sounds really good. Just don’t get the old man to order the costumes for you. Or better yet, if you do, tell him who’s wearing the dress this time.”

B winks and kisses Lawliet on the lips before he can respond, then slips away reluctantly, Lawliet’s lips burning slightly on his, “I’ll see you in a week, then. Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” Lawliet nods seriously, reaching for his notebook.

B takes it as a good sign that Lawliet looks up from the case just before he closes the door to quirk a small smile at him.

* * *

 

**October 31, 1998**

 

“Can I look yet?”

L is actually pretty good at sitting immobile for long periods of time, but usually it’s because all of his concentration is focused on a case. To sit still while B moisturizes, powders, and rouges his face is another ordeal entirely. Not even the music in the background, the gothic-western dirge of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds (the only CD in the flat that B deemed suitable for Halloween), is enough to keep his attention. Worse yet, he feels like he might sneeze at any moment.

“No, and quit moving your mouth.” B’s eyebrows pinch together as he leans in to attack L’s lips with pencil and brush.

To entertain himself, L runs his fingers up and down B’s thighs, glistening and silky green. The green tunic B wears leaves plenty of leg on display, so much so that L’s mid-calf, sky-blue chemise seems positively demure in comparison. Having his legs shaved was another first, too, though L had enjoyed the way B cradled his ankle, the risky kiss of the razor skating over his skin. Afterward, the panties B handed to him were white satin, not black lace -- “ _It could show though.”_  L made B leave the room before pulling them on, nearly grimacing at how the elastic dug into his backside.

“Hey, cheating.” B skirts around him, but there’s a sliver of wicked smile in his voice. L’s hair is bunched up with pins, then he feels the wig -- heavy, russet curls -- being lowered onto his head. B arranges it fussily for a few minutes before stepping back, satisfied. “Okay, _there_. Now you can look.”

* * *

 _And doesn’t he look damn beautiful_. Lawliet blinks his elegant eyelashes quizzically, the dark circles under his eyes smoothed over, and his cheeks sporting a dainty blush. The nightgown is loose enough that Lawliet is no doubt comfortable, but it gives him an almost fragile look, the only contrast the wiry muscle of his legs and arms.

“You do good work. This looks more convincing than I thought it would be,” Lawliet eyes his shorn calves, nibbling at his index finger.

B shrugs, “It’s what I do, sweetheart. You know, right up there with justice and the occasional B&E.”

Lawliet’s not wrong, though. It’s a good disguise, for a party, with the wig covering his usual mop of dark hair. His height and muscle give it away as drag, but he doesn’t look anything like L Lawliet anymore, save for his eyes. His eyes still glitter with the _knowing_ that B knows so well. It’s undoubtedly Lawliet under the makeup and mirrors, but it makes B smile a bit more knowing that he’d be the only one who could recognize him.

“Well, shall we take off to Neverland, Wendy Darling?”

“Second star to the right and straight on till morning, wasn’t it?”

B drives them out to Shoreditch, where a lone converted warehouse stands amidst trendy, off-beat galleries. There are a number of apartments inside, but Wedy’s looks to be the biggest, even from the outside. It’s just as well, because there’s around fifty people gathered in the space, which still has a bit of a warehouse feel, especially with the furniture pushed to the side to make room for a dance floor.

The party is at a reasonable tilt, the funky rhythm of Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition” murmuring over the throng. There’s alcohol piled haphazardly on a beat-up dining table, but a Queen of Hearts is serving makeshift mixed drinks with a smile. There’s a peculiar glow coming from what could be a bedroom in the corner, but it only matches the dim glow and the faux-cobwebs and bones in the main room.

 _Wedy outdoes herself. Not that I’m surprised_.

B recognizes Merrie Kenwood even before he sees her name, though she cuts a nice figure as _Pulp Fiction_ ’s Mia Wallace. She’s making her way towards them with a smile on her lips and one eyebrow raised.

“Nice party,” B quirks a grin at her, “Why didn’t you invite me sooner?”

* * *

“Had to give Lev time to house-train you,” Wedy quips, smoke trailing over her shoulder as she eyes them up and down. L would bet twenty quid that she chose the Mia Wallace costume because it gave her an excuse to chain-smoke the night away. “Peter Pan and Wendy? You’re both so cute I could puke kittens.”

“Your costume’s good, too.” L nods, a touch self-conscious at how the dress feels when it brushes his startlingly smooth thighs. “But where’s Vincent Vega?”

“Right here,” a whiskey-scented voice rasps in L’s ear, just as a clumsy hand grabs hold of his ass, squeezing hard. L immediately shifts his weight back and and snatches his assaulter’s wrist, twisting it around and up the much larger man’s back, wenching it toward his shoulder.

“Fuck! Forgot how fucking strong you are, Ryuzaki, you scrawny shithead!” The man shouts in a brash, American accent. And it’s the voice that does it, because otherwise L probably wouldn’t have recognized Aiber beneath the stringy black wig. He drops the wrist and takes a step backwards, away from the cloud of whiskey-scent.

“Heh, that’s not Ryu.” B lifts a devilish eyebrow at his one-time, sort-of partner.

Aiber does a literal double-take at L, then smirks slowly, tucking one meaty hand into the pocket of his black blazer. Then he turns and takes in B’s green tunic and tights. “So you’re the ‘Peter?’ That’s quite a change from the usual.”

L fights the urge to reach up and scratch under his wig, which is warm in addition to being heavy. “You two have met?” He wrinkles his nose a little at Wedy. “You’re not dating him, are you?”

She snarls at him around her cigarette. “No way. I’m dating Samuel L. Jackson. Just as soon as we meet, anyway.”

* * *

“Speaking of different from the usual,” Aiber drawls, his eyes widening a little, “Are you two…”

Aiber gestures vaguely with his hands in a way that suggests either mixing or something vaguely obscene. B practically rolls his eyes. _Still the same Aiber. Though looks like he and Lillian are on the off, or maybe he’s just drunk again. Maybe both._

“How much do you really think you know about someone you meet at a party like this, Aiber?” he winks, a twist to his lips, “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you two know each other.”

“I’m shocked, Ryu,” Aiber sizes the two of them up, “I did not have you pegged as the dating type. Or the matching costumes type.”

“You’re really got him pegged all wrong, then.” Wedy blows out a ring of smoke, “You know, for a conman, Aiber, you don’t see through people a whole lot.”

“Hey now.”

“Yeah, for the record, keep your hands off my Wendy. Got this sword for a reason, y’know?” B taps at the plastic cutlass, winding one hand around Lawliet’s waist.

Aiber throws back his head and laughs, “Oh, I know all about your _sword_ , Ryu.”

“Get outta town, you asshole,” B shoves him back into the crowd, while Wedy mouths _‘No way in hell’_ to Lawliet, who looks slightly amused, rather than antsy. B feels the same, despite how strange it is to have his arm around Lawliet in public, “So, d’you wanna get some Halloween candy?”

The candy table is almost as well-stocked as the alcohol, which B is almost certain is partially for Lawliet’s benefit. Especially given the generous variety of Haribo gummies, Lawliet’s favourite. From the candy corn and lollipops, B carefully selects a blood-red candy apple, keeping one eye on Lawliet while he runs his tongue around the crystalline sugar.

He licks his lips and catches Lawliet’s eye, feeling his stomach clench in a familiar way at Lawliet’s wide and wandering eyes. He grins wickedly, “Want some poisoned apple?”

* * *

L toys with one of his long curls in what he knows must be a very bad approximation of ‘adorably coy.’ “I’m already immune to your poison, pretty sure.” He ignores the Haribo sweets and unthreads a long length of thin licorice laces. Sucking it between his lips and twining it around his tongue, he closes the gap between them by tugging on B’s belt.

“What’s Aiber know about your sword?” He grips the curved plastic blade and gives it a little shake, smiling but biting down hard on the licorice. It’s playful aggression, but not entirely feigned. The idea of Aiber and B having a history together makes him heat up with a whiff of childish jealousy, and more than a little bit of smugness. _Because you’re all mine now, aren’t you?_

"Not enough to know how to handle it properly,” then he leans into L's ear to whisper, "he's shit in bed, unlike someone I know."

“A bed really isn’t necessary.” L paws up another handful of licorice laces and binds B’s wrists together in front of him. An utterly futile form of restraint, but a fun one. B watches him, lips pursed together in interest, as he uses a second lace to fashion a sort of leash. “Don’t pull too hard on these. They won’t hold up to much.”

“Thought it was Tiger Lily who was tied up?”

L grins. “I’m breaking character. Blame Aiber.”

* * *

“More like thank Aiber,” B lets Lawliet lead him across the dance floor, garnering a few catcalls from masked dancers, but not a ton of notice. It’s just as well, the wicked smirk under Lawliet gaze is sending the blood straight to his groin. _And it’s not like these tights are gonna leave anything to the imagination_.

There’s something utterly intoxicating about being led by such spun-sugar delicacy-- the chiffon against Lawliet’s upper arms, the stickness of the laces settling on his skin, the way the dim and flickering lights dance over Lawliet’s pale skin.

B breathes it all in. _Because_ , _yeah, there’s something still a little breakable about_ us _, isn’t there?_ And that’s what makes it sweet. He stops to lick at the strawberry-flavoured bindings when they get into the hallway, tugging on Lawliet’s end gently, until Lawliet lets him follow the rope with his tongue all the way to Lawliet’s wrist, sucking at his fingers for a moment.

“Y’know, I would say I’ve lost my shadow,” B steps in to breathe into the shell of Lawliet’s ear, thigh pressed between his legs, “But people’d say that I’m your shadow. And you’re not ever going to lose me, Darling.”

Lawliet almost chuckles slightly in his ear, but B catches his lips before he can say anything, tangling a hand into those fibrous curls and kissing him breathless. Lawliet pauses only to push them backwards into what looks to be a small study, not that B is paying attention to the details when he lifts Lawliet onto the desk, licking a trail down his neck, sliding a hand down the front of his dress to twist at his nipple.

“We’d better be quick about this,” Lawliet breathes in his ear, “I reckon we’re not the only ones that had this in mind.

B gasps outwardly when Lawliet’s hands find his ass, the material thin enough that it almost feels like nothing but skin. _Not quite though_. He realizes when Lawliet slips a hand underneath the tights to squeeze at his rapidly hardening cock. B can’t escape the moan that he breathes into Lawliet’s ear.

Lawliet pushes him back slightly, eyes crawling over B as if searching for the right buttons to press to make B come apart in a matter of seconds. _God, that look by itself is one of them_. Lawliet slides off the desk slowly, so that B can admire the outline of his cock, rock-hard underneath the blue nightgown

“God fucking damn, that is a good look on you. Does it feel okay?” he leans in to slip a hand under Lawliet’s gown, feeling the satin of his favourite pair white panties straining against Lawliet’s cock, “The first time I got hard in a dress was thinking about you, too.”

* * *

L’s hips involuntarily jerk at the sensation of B’s fingers, feathering at the waistband. “Those feel a little tight just now.” He tilts back against the desk and closes his eyes for a moment, his hand blindly tugging off the jaunty feathered Peter Pan cap so he can pull at B’s hair, letting go only when B’s head disappears beneath the layers of the dress. Warmth bubbles up through his abdomen as B’s moist lips and tongue suck at the satin crotch of his panties, tracing his shaft through the fabric.

“Ah.” L pulls in a breath and gathers the dress up in his hands, lifting it up past his waist. “I want to watch you do that.” The head of his erection is poking out from the top of the panties, livid and already leaking clear liquid that B laps up eagerly, his eyes staring straight up to meet L’s. “God, get them off already.”

B peels the underwear off slowly enough, but L’s cock still pops free almost comically, and B’s face is so close it nearly bops B him on the chin. It makes them both laugh, and the sound is so light and giddy that L ducks down to kiss B fiercely, gripping his jaw and drawing his face closer. “I want to fuck your mouth,” he murmurs as he licks a path to B’s ear. “And then I’m going to suck you off.” He stands back up and brushes a few curls off his boyfriend’s forehead.

B’s lips quirk into a smile. “Sounds good to me.”

_Boyfriend? Well…_

The term is accurate, and yet somehow too pedestrian for them. Too safe, too cute. But right now he’s hard and he wants to fuck. The rest will come later.

Dropped to his knees, B takes L in a loose grip at the base, tightening bit by bit as he flicks out his tongue and teases the head of L’s cock, the edge of his foreskin. L smiles a little at the sight -- B likes to be showy, and he’s more showy now than usual. Maybe it’s the costumes, maybe they remind him of the work he does, wresting out secrets with disguise and seduction.

Still holding up the dress with one hand, L tightens his hold on B’s hair and thrusts his hips, a little at first and then faster, watching as he slides in and out of B’s mouth. God, he looks so fucking good sucking cock, one hand shoved down those green tights to squeeze himself, the other gripping L’s hip, urging him on. The faint music coming from out beyond the study, and the steady stream of voices and laughter, sometimes passing right outside the door, makes arousal churn from L’s stomach straight down to his toes. He bites back a shout as he comes, B’s throat pulsing around him, one finger sneaking around to prod into his ass.

“Shit,” he breathes, trying to stagger upright.

* * *

 

B catches Lawliet by the arm, taking in his gasp, glazed-eyes, shuddering with pleasure. Lawliet tries to stand again, but instead falls a little closer into B’s grip.   _Don't try to get ahold of yourself too fast._ He wipes his mouth, licking the sweet taste of Lawliet's come off his lips.

"Relax a minute," B nuzzles his shoulder where the chemise has tumbled down, feeling the thrumming of his pulse there, "I think we've got time."

His balls are starting to tighten uncomfortably, though, so he doesn't complain when Lawliet catches his breath and starts to work the skintight leggings off of his ass. It's squirmy work, he only manages to peel them down to B's knees before giving up, lifting B onto the top of the desk to reverse their positions.

"Missing the dress a little now-" B's snark ends in a moan as Lawliet engulfs his cock, then pulls off to suck at the tip like it's candy, dragging his teeth along the shaft in a way that has B digging his nails into Lawliet's neck.

"Fuck...Lawliet," he barely manages to keep his voice down from a shout. Lawliet's small smile is insidious underneath the unfamiliar mess of curls. The sight of his painted lips rolling up and down B's cock is so erotic B wants to burn it into the back of his mind. He could have B screaming in seconds, but instead works B with his lips gently, teasing, till he's almost trembling with the heat of it.

"Do you want to come, B?"

"Yes, god yes," B pants, and Lawliet, eyes still locked on B’s, starts up at a rhythm that has B unable to form anything other than incoherent gasps. _Here’s_ where it doesn’t take much, just the feeling of Lawliet’s throat closing in over _all of him_ , and he’s crying out, muffling his scream by biting at his arm as the heat rushes from his groin to his toes.

"Christ, I don't know that I'll ever get used to how good you are at that," B manages, wobbling slightly when he goes to stand.

* * *

“Heh,” L breathes out a little laugh at the hyperbole, and after taking a minute or two to collect themselves, he helps roll B’s tights up over his still-swollen cock, daubing away a smattering of stray semen from his tunic. “I think we’ve sullied these sweet, innocent children’s storybook characters with our depravity.”

“Peter’s not _that_ innocent.” B smooths down the front of L’s rumpled dress. “Kind of a child kidnapper type, when you think about it.”

L finds a stray licorice lace from the desk and bites down on the end of it, letting it dangle from the end of his mouth as he cups B’s chin and rubs his thumb along his lower lip. “I think Wendy wanted to be kidnapped.”

Back out at the party, Siouxsie and the Banshees’ “Halloween” is playing, and more people have gathered to dance and slither under the strobe lights, some of them having grown clumsy and inebriated by now. L isn’t usually one for alcohol, but after looking over the selection of beverages on the table he doesn’t find anything nonalcoholic except for club soda, which he holds up to B doubtfully.

“Try the punch!” Q shouts at him over the music. She and Lenny (or Lenore, as L knew her by when they grew up together at Wammy's), are dressed as 1960s flower children; Q’s teased her hair out into an afro and dressed her lanky figure in a halter top and bell bottoms, while Lenny wears a long white sundress and a wreath of flowers in her hair, peace sign painted on her round cheek. Along with Wedy, they’re the only other people at the party who know L’s true identity.

B shrugs and fills two cups up with the red-tinted brew, which bubbles and froths from the punch bowl. L takes a tentative taste and finds it light and pleasant, like strawberries, with barely any liquor after-taste. In less than two minutes he’s drunk his cup down.

“Did you two visit the fortune teller yet?” Q’s Brazilian accent is a little more pronounced than usual; the punch must be working its magic. “She knows her shit! Gave me a very accurate reading -- it was spooky.”

“But cool!” Lenny adds.

“Yeah, super cool. I mean _groovy_.” Q snorts back a laugh.

* * *

 

B leans in closer to her, clearly interested. “Fortune teller?”

Q waves to a doorway on the other side of the room. “She’s set up in that room with the black lights.”

“C’mon, let’s do it,” He loops an arm around Lawliet’s to take off towards the glow of the back room. In full light, B is sure it’s meant to be a generously sized closet, but there’s the glowing light of a crystal ball alighted on a velvet-draped table, along with a single dancing candle.

“What have we here?” the Seer has a hoarse voice, and her eyes are a vivid blue when they flicker open, “Boyfriends, I’d wager? Lovers come to ask of their fate.”

“Partners, I’d say,” B feels a slight giddiness bubble in his chest, which may or may not have anything to do with the punch.

“By any other name. I need not see the things I can to know that the two of your are indeed beholden to each other. But let’s look a little deeper, shall we?”

“We’ll do something brief, then,” Lawliet cocks his head curiously, “I don’t want to hold anyone up.”

B can sense the skepticism in the slump of Lawliet’s shoulders, but he also seems amused enough to stick around. _He downed that punch awful quick_ , B thinks ruefully as he does the same. The two of them squeeze onto the small bench in front of the Seer’s table.

“D’you do cards? Maybe a quick spread?”

The Seer, whose name B reads as _Kiana Porter_ , nods sagely and passes her tarot deck to B, after extracting the _Lovers_ card as the central piece, “Shuffle three times, thinking of something that pertains to both of you. Deal from the left, using your left hand.”

B riffle-shuffles to be showy, despite the unwieldy size of the cards. Something about the Seer’s name, though B knows it to be a coincidence, sends a shiver down his spine. _Porter might be a common name, but funny to see it here again, now._ Marla Porter was the first mystery in a long line of many that he and Lawliet shared together. He doesn’t say anything, but squeezes Lawliet’s hand as the Celtic spread goes down.

“This covers one. The inverse moon. The darkness of a difficult period is retreating. Common to a new relationship. Good,” she hums and flips a second card overtop, to cross the first, “This crosses one. The Magician. Oh that’s very interesting. The two of you are both very powerful, I perceive. It’s to your advantage, but don’t let that get away from you with each other.”

The sun appears in the topmost of the spread, the star in reverse at the base. The seer explains this as optimism, but with turbulent foundation. B can feel Lawliet tense up next to him when the past card reveals Strength in reverse. Unleashed hostility, cowardice, avoidance. He swipes a thumb over Lawliet’s wrist. _We’re not going back to that again._

“This is before one,” she drops the card to the right of the central card, “Challenges ahead… inverse six of cups. Mhm. You have a cherished and shared past. Don’t let it haunt you.”

B exchanges a glance with Lawliet, his skin starting to crawl a little. _Accuracy is a little too close for comfort. Though she is keeping things vague_. On the ninth card, the Seer hesitates a moment, a little gasp escaping her lips.

“The devil. Well that is something we all fear, isn’t it? The devil within,” she smiles like quicksilver, reminding B of A, and then drops the final card, “The Tower. A dramatic choice. I do not know how far ahead this card lies. But the choice you make at the tower’s foot, no matter which it is, will change the course of your lives. Both together, and apart.”

_God, isn’t that how it always is with us?_

 

_ _

_Tarot Reading [do not edit or repost]_

 

“The cards gave you many warnings, but your foundation is good,” she says as she folds the deck back together,“I fear that whatever may keep you apart is fragile compared to what keeps you together. That’s a blessing and a curse.”

“Thank you,” B says a little dazed. Lawliet is still rigid beside him, but he stands up first, nodding to the Seer.

* * *

L is impressed with the woman’s performance, if not necessarily with her reading. Who in this world, after all, doesn’t face a ‘dramatic choice’ at one point or another? But he knows that B, with his penchant for symbols, with his need to separate the real from the unreal, could very well take it all to heart. He keeps their hands linked together all the way back to the punch bowl.

“That was fun.” He pours another cup out for B. “Wonder where Wedy found her? She’s got a good act going, at any rate.”

“Yeah.” B slugs down too much of his punch, thoughts clearly elsewhere.

By now, a pleasant buzz is working its way through L’s limbs, making him warm and swishy-headed. Such a state is inadvisable for someone in his position, but already the punch has made him disinclined to follow his own advice. He drains his cup, pours a little more, and drinks that, too, just in time for a slow song to come on over the sound system.

“Come’on, Pan.” He grabs B’s wrist and drags him under the swirling lights. “Wendy wants her dance.”

The song is Nina Simone’s version of “I Put a Spell on You.” L lowers B’s hands to his waist, presses them firmly into place, then tosses his arms over B’s shoulders. The ‘dancing’ doesn’t amount to much more than pressing their bodies close together and swaying back and forth, but it’s enough to bring a smile back to B’s lips.

 _“I put a spell on you, because you’re mine,”_ L mouths along, glaring a little at Aiber, who’s watching rather gormlessly from the fringes of the dance floor. “Reckon Aiber’s come to terms with that?”

“He will if we keep dancing like this. There’s not exactly room for the holy ghost here between us.” B snickers, and his hands feel so good and warm on L’s hips that he can’t help but close his eyes and tuck his chin into B’s shoulder.

_Whatever may keep you apart is fragile compared to what keeps you together…_

L locks his hands together behind B’s shoulder blades, squeezing more firmly than he means to. Right now he doesn’t want to move from this spot, ever. And this is why booze is terrible. He should have remembered.

“I drank too much punch,” he says ito B’s ear. “You still good to drive us home?”

* * *

B nods, a little relieved. It’ll be nice to get back to a space where it’s just the two of them, no cards or wandering eyes. They dance for the remainder of the song, say a quick goodbye to Wedy, a little handsier than when they started. Lawliet is warm, and both of them are a little tired from the night’s activities. B takes care driving them back to Marylebone, one hand on Lawliet’s knee as he steers them through the streets of London.

 _Both a blessing and a curse…_ B tries to let the words go, cast them away into mystical nonsense, but they hit home in a lot of ways.

It certainly feels like a blessing, now.

“Good to be back,” Lawliet sits down on the couch almost immediately, “Please take this wig off me, it’s been itching like mad.”

B obediently removes the bobby pins, enjoying the feel of Lawliet’s silky black hair, already bouncing free into its usual wild mess, “Guess we should shower off that makeup too, huh.”

In the bathroom, Lawliet shucks off the dress efficiently, his bones glowing underneath his pale skin. B slows down stripping off the tunic and tights to take in the sight. _The dress was a good look for him, but no clothes at all will always be the best._

“What?” Lawliet’s smile is tempting, but mainly just softly teasing.

“S’nice to see you looking like you again, is all,” B drops a kiss on Lawliet’s still-rouged cheek.

They wash up together in the shower, both too sleepy and L a little too tipsy to contemplate anything more than just enjoying each other’s presence. Before long they’re tucked into the bed, hair still damp, legs tangled together. Just being with.

“Happy birthday, Lawliet,” B whispers, just remembering now, “I’ll have to give you your present in the morning.”

“You’ve already given it to me,” Lawliet mumbles into his hair, kissing his forehead softly.

“Yeah, well,” B mumbles, sleep starting to blanket him over amidst the steady rise and fall of Lawliet’s chest, “I guess we both get presents. Happy Halloween, then.”

* * *

**November 1, 1998**

 

Apparently, _“I’ll have to give you your present in the morning”_ was a serious promise. L is drawn out of sleep by kisses all along his collarbone, which trail down his chest and turn into gentle, teasing bites just above his hip.

The sex is fantastic -- slow and drawn out at first, almost sweet, then taking a turn for the desperate by the end. Afterward, they both flop exhausted back into the sheets and snooze for another hour. When L opens his eyes again, it’s thanks to the tempting scent of something cinnamon-sweet.

“Just warmed these up in the oven.” B comes in through the bedroom door with a wooden tray of scones, whipped butter, jam, and two mugs of tea. He sets it on the foot of the bed and slides back onto the sheets.

“Apple scones.” L smiles in approval, reaching for one and breaking off a corner. “And breakfast in bed. This is disgustingly domestic of us, you realize.”

“A little birthday extravagance. And it’s not like I baked them, y’know. Could be worse,” B spreads his scone with butter and strawberry jam, a glob of which promptly drops onto the white sheets. “Oops.”

“These will need washing, anyway,” L says, deliberately wiping his fingers on them. “Especially after this morning.”

* * *

“I’ll consider my work here done, then,” B takes a few nibbles of his scone before reaching for his pack of cigarettes, a little nervousness creeping up on him in spite of himself. The familiar taste of nicotine helps a bit, “Alright, so your gift isn’t much, but I figure you’ve already got everything you’d possibly want, so I figured something to remember this by. Lucky for me it’s something we wanna remember.”

_It’s a memory I’ll be holding on to for a long time._

He slips off the bed, reaches in his bag for a small box, which he presses in Lawliet’s hands quickly. Lawliet gives him a quizzical glance before lifting the lid. Inside are a simple thimble, and a worn brown button, each with a long silver chain, so they can be worn as charms around the neck.

Lawliet smiles, and it’s rueful, but also so very _soft_ that B knows he likes them just fine. _More than fine, even_ , “Kisses for Wendy and Peter, hmm? I like it. It’s simple. And secret.”

“I figured...something for both of us, again, I guess,” B smiles ear-to-ear when Lawliet presses the thimble in his hand. He fumbles to do it up, and it _feels_ right there. _Something to hold on to._

“It’ll be nice to have that reminder, when you’re off in Neverland,” Lawliet says jokingly as he does the chain up around his neck, and B throws back his head and laughs.

“Just give me a kiss before I go, and I’ll be fine, Darling.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are of course, very, very, much appreciated. Come follow us on tumblr.com; our Ao3 handles are our URLs. You can find the blogs for L Lawliet and Beyond Birthday at lowlawliet.tumblr.com and noirberryjam.tumblr.com respectively!


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